The More Things Change
by Phosphorescent
Summary: Angela's running late. Again. What is it with her and airports, anyway? Or, one way Season Six could start.


_Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_A/N: Let's face it — every Bones fanfic author has to write at least one fic about this. So here's my take on one way the sixth season could start._

* * *

_11:00 AM_

"No, Jack," Angela says breathlessly, pushing his hands away half-heartedly, "not right now. Brennan's flight is due in in an hour."

"Mmmhmm," he murmurs into her ear. The vibration simultaneously tickles and turns her on. "We've got time, then."

Laughing, she says, "Bren's going to kill me." In contrast to her protesting words, she's eagerly removing his shirt.

"I'll protect you," he growls, helping her out of her blouse.

"Oh God," she moans, feeling his teeth brush a sensitive spot on her neck. "Well, I guess we have time for _one_ round…"

They barely make it to the bed, a trail of discarded clothing left in their wake.

—-—-—

_11:20 AM_

A repleted Angela rolls over, sighing.

"OK, I've gotta run," she says. "Traffic's awful near the airport."

Jack raises an eyebrow lazily.

"I'll give you awful, baby," he says, grinning.

"You're right," Angela says, re-fastening her bra. "That _was_ awful."

Jack mimes being struck, a hand thrown over his heart in mock pain.

"Oh get on with you," Angela says, laughing. She pulls on her wrinkled slacks and buttons up her equally wrinkled blouse. "Where did my shoes go?"

Jack points to the far corner of the room, where a lone high heel lies on its side.

A quick glance at the bedside clock reveals that it's later than she'd thought.

"Oh crap," she mutters, hurriedly shoving a foot into the shoe. Hopping around the room, "Where the hell's the other one?"

"I wasn't exactly paying attention to your _shoes_," Jack tells her.

"Yeah, well, now would be a good time to start," Angela says, eyes scanning the room. "Hah!"

She fishes the fugitive shoe out from under the bed. A few seconds later, she pecks him on the cheek and dashes out the door.

_—-—-—_

_12:00 PM_

"Crap, crap, crap."

A litany of curse words spew from Angela's mouth as she circles the damned parking lot. Because of course when she's running late there are no spots to be had.

She should have just let Jack drop her off.

_—-—-—_

_12:25 PM_

She feels like the White Rabbit from _Alice in Wonderland_, pocketwatch, gloves, neurotic timekeeping, and all.

"Oh shit. I'm late…"

And, just to make this day better, the arrivals board is broken. Again.

"Excuse me?"

The uniformed man at the desk ignores her.

"Sir? Hello?" she says irritatedly, waving her hand in his face. "The arrivals board has some sort of a glitch. A little help would be nice."

"A minute," he says in a monotone, not even looking up from his computer.

"Ugh," Angela groans.

It's going to be more than just a minute, and she can't even resort to flashing her boobs to get the guy's attention. She's a married woman now and she has a feeling that Jack wouldn't appreciate it.

An amused voice pulls her out of her funk.

"Still harassing airport employees, I see."

"Sweetie!"

Angela whirls around and embraces her friend. She looks tired and rather thinner, but otherwise healthy.

"How was your flight? Have you heard from Booth yet? Where's Daisy?"

"I can only answer one question at a time, Ange," Brennan says, hoisting her duffel over one shoulder. "Miss Wick is using the toilet, but I imagine that she'll be with us soon. Where's Hodgins?"

Smirking, Angela replies, "I left him back at the house. He offered to drive me here, but I wanted to do it myself. You know, for old times' sake."

Brennan's face is gently reflective as she says, "I know."

"Dr. Brennan!"

Daisy Wick comes around the corner, ponytail bouncing almost as enthusiastically as the rest of her.

"I was talking with the flight attendant and – oh, hi, Miss Montenegro!" She beams. "I was just telling Dr. Brennan that we are entitled to a partial refund on our tickets, since the television didn't work."

"Thank you, Miss Wick," Brennan says. "I will contact the airline tonight and ensure that the refund goes through."

"The two of you must be exhausted!" Angela says. "How long's the flight from Maluku again? Two days?"

"Only twenty-four of those hours were spent in the air," Brennan reminds her. "The rest of the time was expended in layovers in London and Hong Kong."

"Oh, well that makes all the difference in the world," Angela mutters.

"Your words say good, but your tone suggests otherwise," Brennan says, frowning. After a pause: "You're being sarcastic."

"Very good, Bren," Angela says.

"Yes, I am becoming quite adept at picking up on social cues," Brennan replies with satisfaction.

Angela can't help but smile because it's so _Brennan_, and God, she's missed her friend.

"But my sarcasm is meant in the nicest way," Angela explains fondly.

Instead of commenting that sarcasm isn't nice, Brennan just returns Angela's smile.

"So did you park nearby?" Daisy asks as they stroll out of the airport. "'cause I'm _really_ looking forward to a long, hot shower. I mean, I totally understand why there weren't any showers where we were, but I missed having running water."

Brennan nods in agreement.

"One of the hazards of the job," she agrees. "I always find that my appreciation for the amenities of our society increases exponentially upon my return."

"You never mentioned that there weren't any showers!" Angela says, horrified.

"We were in a particularly remote corner of the Maluku Islands, Ange," Brennan says in amusement. "It's not exactly famous as a bastion of modern civilization." She shrugs. "Besides, you get used to it after a while."

Angela wrinkles her nose in distaste.

"I'm all for communing with nature," she says, "but a year without bathing? Surrounded by other people who haven't bathed? Ugh."

"Oh, we bathed," Daisy pipes up.

"Yes," Brennan chimes in. "We maintained excellent hygiene, all factors considered. Besides, we weren't completely deprived of showering facilities; we did go into cities every now and then."

"You're insane, you know that?" she tells the two anthropologists. "Clinically insane. I love you for it, but God… no showers." She mutters this last bit under her breath, shaking her head in disgust.

As they enter the parking garage, Angela finds that she still half-expects homeland security to accost them. Of course, Booth doesn't get back from Afghanistan until tomorrow, but…

Eh. She shrugs off the feeling of déjà vu.

Brennan and Daisy keep chattering happily about the discoveries that they made this past year, and although Angela's interested, her brain has decided to tune them out.

Brennan's back and Booth is on his way. Soon they'll be a team again, their small, incredibly dysfunctional family reunited.

"Ange?" Brennan says. "Ange!"

"Oh," Angela says, jerking her head up and forcing her mind back to the two women at her side. "Um, yeah?"

"Didn't we just pass your car?"

"Right, sorry about that," Angela says, laughing slightly. "I'm all over the place right now. It's just… I'm glad you're home, y'know? It wasn't the same without you."

"Didn't you have a good time in Paris?" Daisy asks curiously, hearing the hint of melancholy in the artist's tone. "I mean, you love art and Dr. Hodgins, right? You just had a year of both."

"It was fun," Angela agrees, "but, I dunno… it felt like part of me was missing."

Brennan smirks. "Secretly," she tells Angela, playfully nudging her ribs with an elbow, "you're just as much a workaholic as the rest of us."

"Wha– I am not!" Angela exclaims.

"Dr. Brennan has a point," Daisy says.

"Oh, hush you two," Angela says. "I am not a workaholic. I just… happen to find satisfaction in my chosen career, that's all."

Brennan beams at her, and Angela's reminded of how far they've all come. How far _she's_ come.

Once, there was a time when she thought her work at the Jeffersonian was temporary, just a way to earn enough money to get to Paris.

Well, she's been to Paris now. And while it's everything she dreamed of, she's discovered that it's no longer _her _dream.

A job that was once just a means to an end has become a quest for justice. That group of socially-stunted scientists has become her family.

"It's good to _be_ home," Brennan says, responding to Angela's earlier comment.

"Yeah," Angela agrees. "It is."


End file.
